


Armada

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4855172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard’s recruited Thranduil to his side a little too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armada

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Bard wants to keep his children safe, and he isn't particularly popular with the Master of the Lake Town, so he decides he needs some kind of protection. Maybe if Bard was with an elf, Master would not dare to risk anything happening to the relationship with elves, so he would leave his family alone. It's too late when Bard realizes that he now has a king (or a prince, am not picky) head over heels in love with him” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20621567).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It works. 

When Bard walks back through the streets of Lake-town, he isn’t particularly surprised that the Master’s men immediately converge on him; they’re always looking for a reason to hunt him down. For his children’s sake, it’s why he risked the trip to Mirkwood. And it was worth it, because as soon as the guards see who walks beside him, they stop in wonderment and slink back away from whence they came. 

A few sulk after them, disbelieving, but those will learn soon enough that their eyes don’t deceive them, and they’ll leave him alone. The Master wouldn’t dare risk his relationship with the elves. Few would. 

They keep a brisk pace, both with long legs and a surety across the icy lanes. It’s only just growing dark by the time they reach the door of Bard’s home—the elk that bore them around the lake flew like the wind. A few elves linger here and there, subtle and significantly behind to give them privacy. Thranduil alone pauses at the doorstep, and Bard turns to thank him.

“It was very kind for a king to walk me back,” he notes, because it still seems odd to him: Thranduil looks every bit the king he is. He’s regal and proud, and devastatingly beautiful. A smile twitches at the corner of his bowed lips.

“It is merely a blink in time for me,” Thranduil muses, which seems to suggest that he’ll do it again. Then he glances sideways, icy eyes sweeping out over the water, the rickety paths and the crumpled, decrepit houses of their struggling town. It must look pitiful to him, but he only says, “It is... _interesting_ to see how my new lover lives.”

The ease with which he titles Bard sends a shiver down Bard’s spine. The flush that comes to his face isn’t just from the growing cold. He hadn’t meant for their alliance to go that far, nor even that way at all, but he had nothing else for which to bargain favour and protection. He would never have thought an Elven King would be willing to entertain the notion of his body, let alone fall for him entirely. Of course, when Bard observes all of Thranduil’s handsomeness, he can’t at all be disappointed. His nights in Thranduil’s keep, sharing whine and stories of everything from history to their children, and the ride here in Thranduil’s warm arms, and the look of him now, so alluringly ethereal and yet charmingly true, make Bard dizzy. When Thranduil looks back, Bard steps forward to kiss him.

It’s meant to be a parting gesture, but Thranduil takes control, as he does so easily. He has one arm around Bard’s waist in a heartbeat, the other hand splayed against his cheek, slipping back into his matted hair. His own lift to feel Thranduil’s silken locks, falling pale down his shoulders. Thranduil’s plush lips part to push an eager tongue into Bard’s mouth, and Bard lets himself be filled, kissed and sucked until he’s breathless. When he finally manages to break away, Thranduil still keeps them close together and murmurs, “You will return to me soon, yes?” His voice is like music: a song Bard can hardly resist.

Hoarse, Bard answers, “When I can. And know that you’re always welcome in my humble home.” He has nothing even remotely as grand as Thranduil’s accommodations to offer, but he finds he means the words nonetheless. If he had nothing, he’d still want to share it with this man.

Thranduil, more fun than the reverent stories give him credit, quirks one dark brow and asks, “Does that include tonight?”

Bard hadn’t meant for this to happen. He didn’t even realize it was happening until it was too late. Now he just teases, “I don’t have any wine.”

Thranduil’s fierce eyes roam purposely down Bard’s body, seem to like what little they see, and he purrs, “Then I will settle for other delights.”

Over Thranduil’s shoulder, Bard can see a knot of the Master’s guards hovering by, curiously eyeing the two of them. But it isn’t because of that that Bard nods his head, tilting his face for another kiss. 

This time, when they’re finished, Thranduil bends to sweep Bard up into his arms. It happens in the blink of an eye, leaving Bard clinging to Thranduil’s broad shoulders with one arm under his back and the other his legs. His door seems to swing open for nothing more than Thranduil’s will. As Thranduil carries him over the threshold, the other elves politely depart their own ways, even though Bard suspects this will be a night worthy of the minstrels.


End file.
